


I Wanna Live, Not Just Survive

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Series: Season 15 Codas [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Because let's not bury our gays, Coda, Cuddles, Earth ending, F/M, First Kiss, Fix-It, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, coda 15x20, happy human ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: “Dean Winchester,” Cas drawls. “I did not go to The Empty, so you could get yourself impaled.”Or: the other one, where Cas and Dean get to be what they deserve.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: Season 15 Codas [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015657
Comments: 26
Kudos: 276
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	I Wanna Live, Not Just Survive

**Author's Note:**

> Because happiness doesn’t only come in servings of death and characters don’t need to be relegated to heaven to find it. 
> 
> Title song from 'Angel With A Shotgun', because it made me cry? Like, of all the songs, I know, but I'm running with it. For now my final coda, because I need a break from this intensity. (Unbeta'ed, by the way.) As in, there's other stuff I should be working on, including original work.
> 
> Much love,  
> Mal

Dean swings for the vamp. His arm’s tired. Hell, his soul is exhausted. Has been for a really long time now. Weighed down by all that happened and this more recent hollow type of living. From having to keep going for the sake of everyone they lost, but what is the point when they’re all gone? Sammy. Sam’s the point. Right. He can try to fool his brother and sometimes he wonders if he truly succeeds, because in his heart, there’s an empty. A Cas-shaped hole left behind that no drink or food can fill. An expanding emptiness for each found family member who isn’t there anymore.

So many things left unsaid, that keep rattling around in his skull. He prays them during long, sleepless nights, hoping they have a reach, while he desperately tries to make sense of how to shape this life. This _free_ life, where free entails barely anchored.

Every time he fights, he’s aware he’s going on fumes. But he keeps going. Because Cas sacrificed himself for him. Because Sam needs him, even when he knows they need to break that cycle, but neither of them seems to know how. Because there’s his dog, Miracle, who is important when he hugs him so tight, he fears he might hurt him.

But dogs don’t live forever. And what’s left if he finds the courage to cut Sam loose so he can live the life he needs and deserves? Therapy? Working through the grief? A regular job? He surrendered to that wild notion one night, sending out a painfully small resume, even when he translates his hunter skills into something more acceptable.

Dean ducks out of the swinging attack, feeling his weight slip too far, and loses his footing. Just a split second moment of neglect. Of fatigue.

Two hands grab him by the coat and suddenly he’s forced backwards. He knows this move. He’s about to hit a hard surface, maybe break a rib or two. Those’ll heal slower than they used to. Add to the constellations of scars and chronic pain. Maybe he’ll get to rest for a while.

His trajectory changes abruptly, another weight barreling into them. Instead of a hard surface to the back, suddenly _three_ of them go head over ass to the floor. He lands on his side, knocking his head, and blinks against the dark spots popping. Standing over him is a newcomer. From his angle he can’t see his face, but the voice…

The _voice_ cuts through the cobwebs that crowd his mind, while _he_ grumbles something. Pissed off as ever, in battle.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas drawls. “I did _not_ go to The Empty, so you could get yourself impaled.”

Dean hoists himself to his knees, dragging the machete along as he finds back his upright position. His heart strains under both Cas’ presence and the effort, but a fire rekindles at the sight of Cas set upon by the vamp.

Short-lived, when Cas fires his shotgun, the impact stopping the vamp in his tracks. Cas twirls his own machete around in his hand and cuts the creature’s head clean off. Sam comes running after dispatching his opponent and suddenly all that’s left in this _barn_ is hard breathing.

And staring. Between all three of them.

“Cas?” Sam asks, the first to recover. “Where did you come from?”

“Where’s your trench?”

Because, sure, that _is_ the most pressing question, Winchester. Cas shoots him a bit of a look, wiping the blade clean on one of the corpses. “In my car.”

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “That makes sense.”

“It really doesn’t,” Cas says fondly.

His eyes are skittish though, while he dodges out from under Dean’s undoubtedly intense gaze. All the words that were never spoken threaten to pile up like the Rockies once more.

“You’re alive,” Dean says on a harsh exhale.

Hapless, Cas lifts his arms, shotgun and machete in each hand, and suddenly Dean’s moving forward, taking the gesture for an invitation. Both weapons fall to the ground when they wrap their arms around each other. The solid bulk of Cas fits to him the way it always has. Like perfection, despite everything that never was.

He puts his hands to either side of Cas’ face, his thumbs seeking out the graze of his stubble. Cas looks more himself now. A bit more at ease. The understanding smile he gives Dean as they separate - though he _really_ doesn’t want to - sends his heart pinballing.

“And… human?” Sam asks, rubbing at his nose. His eyes are moist.

“Yes, human,” Cas says, sounding impatient. He rubs at his arms. “Perhaps this is best talked about back… home?”

He looks at Dean hopefully and insanely, he remembers the time he kicked Cas out of the Bunker. That’s been happening a lot. Reliving his life with the filter of Cas’ love confession thrown over. It wasn’t easy. Or pretty. So Dean finds himself nodding fervently, mouth agape like a goldfish’s, and he gets moving alongside Sam and Cas, his brain tumbling like a dryer. He’s hoping along the way something will drop out that clues him in to what to say.

They get the kids to safety, pick up Cas’ stuff from his rental car and head back to The Bunker, Baby’s rumbling engine the only soothing thing about the drive. For him anyway. He should be relieved. A weight should have lifted. Instead, he tries to stop himself from checking for Cas’ presence in the rearview mirror every few seconds, but fails. Each time he does, he expects him to be gone. Each time he finds him, the fear grips tighter.

But Cas remains right there, meeting Dean in the reflecting surface more often than not. He zips up his hoodie, as if he’s cold, and burrows into the fabric. Sam conks out, or pretends to, against the window.

Nothing tumbles out by the time he pulls up at the Bunker, unless perhaps his entire brain, and Dean loathes himself for it. Because now he can’t pretend he doesn’t know exactly what Cas’ eyes are communicating to him. Hugs won’t cut it. Not after over a decade of silence.

Of never enough.

Of never saying he loved Cas back.

*

Dean tries to wrap his head around the double surprise they have to process. Sam is clearly quicker on the uptake when he actually _carries_ Eileen out of the library towards his room. It leaves him and Cas staring after them for a good while, before he clears his throat.

“So Jack… fixed this?”

“When he saw what was coming for you, yes.”

“Impaled by a rod,” Dean echoes Cas’ words. He grins, trying to go for casual. “I always knew it was the life that’d do me in.”

“Hmm,” Cas hums sourly. “Jack disagrees. As do I.”

“So this is it? You and Eileen… This is real?”

“We are.”

His attention drops to Miracle, who – of course – has taken an immediate shine to Cas and is all but sitting on his feet, looking up patiently. Cas smiles, though there’s clearly a lot going on in his head, and pets Miracle’s fur out of his eyes.

“You’ve gone grey,” Dean says abruptly.

Because he has. Pretty, silver streaks at his temples.

Cas glares at him through his lashes, visibly put out. “And you wonder why?”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” He steps into Cas’ space. “But it looks good on you.”

There’s that familiar squint, where Cas is trying to peg if Dean’s yanking his chain or not. His face relaxes and he gives Dean an almost… coy look. “Thank you, Dean. But you don’t need to woe me.”

There it is, the thread he’s been looking for. The one to snag and pull at to unravel all of this endless ball of yarn they’ve gathered over the years.

“Oh, but I do,” Dean says, suddenly catching on fast. “I’ve got so much to make up for.”

“Did you not hear a thing I said before I went to The Empty?”

“I did,” he says, inching closer so they’re almost chest to chest.

The hair on his arms rises when their hands brush together without actually grabbing hold of each other.

“I think I know it by heart by now, trying to come up with all the things I should have said.”

Pursing his lips, Cas finally looks him dead in the eyes, eyebrows doing that soft, curious trick that used to threaten to pull the truth from him. Back then he always fought it. He doesn’t now.

“All the things you deserved to hear. I used to think I couldn’t have happiness,” he says. “You were right from the second we met. That a man like me doesn’t deserve –“ Hell, he still can’t fully say it, but Cas twitches his hand so their fingers lace together. “Can’t have… or be.”

“And now?” he asks, terribly kind as ever.

His heart hammers against his sternum, his body pounding in several places at once: temples, hip, neck. Even his lips. He licks them.

“I love you,” he whispers, eyes wide, and promptly forgets to breathe.

But Cas breathes easier. Instantly. He can _feel_ it, the moment the words leave his lips, how his angel expands as if he’s taking up more space. Finally. There are too many emotions in his face for Dean to peg, but none of them seem bad. Painful, for sure, but not the bad kind.

He smiles at Cas through sudden tears and blinks rapidly. “Ahh, hell, man, can we take this to bed?”

“Together?”

“Yes,” he says, recoiling slightly. “Where else were you gonna go?”

“Well, my room…”

“Yeah, uh-huh, my room is yours. Ours. Whatever you want it to be.” He slips a hand around Cas’ waist, fingers grazing the skin just under the hem of his shirt. “Let me…”

Cas eyes him, the blue of his eyes so bright, so bright and beautiful and open, and he has to quiet the voice that still wants to tell he doesn’t deserve this. Because this _is_ what it was all about. This last chance, which he has to take for all it’s worth. So he silences those words with his own truth.

“I wanna love you, Cas,” he says softly, finding a kiss on those lips. “Let me love you as you deserve.”

He didn’t mean to steal it like that, but realizes it isn’t a crime at all, when Cas’ arms come around his shoulders. There’s the sweetest little sound invading his mouth. And something off kilter as if Cas is going on tiptoes, which is heartbreakingly adorable, he gives into the physics of that and lifts Cas up. Just that little bit. Miracle nudges into Dean’s legs, giving a soft whine.

Cas is never going to fly again, but maybe Dean can prove he doesn’t need wings to soar.

“You deserve it too.”

*

It’s peculiar to find his way around a bed with Cas, but remarkably easy the more they just… do. Cas fumbles with his hoodie’s zipper, so Dean helps him out of it, finding his hands chilly.

“Cold?” he mutters.

Cas lets out a small, annoyed sound. “More so now that I’m human, it seems.”

“Let me warm you up.”

“Ooh,” Cas sighs, when Dean puts his hands to his abdomen.

Such an intimate thing to do. Let your loved ones warm their hands on you.

“C’me on,” he mutters, once they’re stripped.

Easier than he thought it would be, his cheeks still burn by the time they’re entwined under the sheets and blanket. Because he dreamt of this. Before and after he lost Cas. So yeah. But Cas makes it feel smooth, the way he wraps around Dean.

“You look comfy in your body,” he says.

“I’ve only had it for 12 years, which granted isn’t very long, but…” Cas glances down at himself. “I like this vessel.”

Dean can’t help the chuckle he lets out. “Me too, Cas.”

That begets A Look and it’s starting to feel very warm in their little cocoon. Which is good. He likes warm. Cas closes the distance this time. Eager, the way his lips mold to Dean’s, and the room goes from quiet to charged in a few heartbeats.

His spine tingles with pleasure. Because kissing Cas, letting Cas kiss him, feeling their way around each other, mmh, it’s beautiful the way Cas does it. He’s greedy, moving with confidence, as he pushes and pulls at Dean with hands and lips alike. Dean slows it back down, sinking into that comfortable vulnerability he’s experiencing, as he learns what it’s truly like to kiss Cas.

To taste him and feel his responses. How he almost vibrates with pleasure and the most glorious sounds are pushed past those lips, falling to the air or swallowed by Dean.

When Dean is breathing promises to Cas’ tattoo, his breath hitches violently. A different kind of sound, almost animalistic, falls to his ears.

He looks up and finds Cas has his arm thrown over his face. Hiding.

“Cas, baby…”

“Why does this hurt so much?” Cas hiccups, moving his arm to palm at his sternum. “Here…”

Dean is quick to push himself up and plants a kiss there, hoping the gesture will find fertile ground. Hoping something forgiving and healing will bloom with each consecutive one, while Cas shivers under him.

“Because you’ve loved in isolation for so long, which is a very lonely thing to do.”

“You loved me…” Cas’ voice gives out.

Dean’s shoulders tremble and he rests his forehead to Cas’ heart, nodding. “I did.” He tilts his face up so they’re connected the way they always have been. Eye contact. Wordless. Never enough. “I do. I love you. I’ll say it as often as you need me to. I love you, Cas.”

Cas’ ocean blues go wide, lips parting on an inhale, and they stay there for a while. To let the words land, burrow, grow. Whatever it is they need to do. He cocks his head to the side.

“You never heard me say it when I should have. So a heart aches under the weight of that.”

Cas is pensive now, his fingers kneading Dean’s arms, his flanks, borderline ticklish here and there. His muscles jumps and he can’t stop a smile, but holds. Stays where he is, contrary to all the other times he let Cas walk away or disengaged the moment himself. His breath falls to Cas’ warm skin, moistening up the dark hair with every puff.

Cas’ eyes focus on him intensely. “Human hearts… are curiously fragile and strong at the same time. Even under the worst kind of duress, it seems they find ways to connect. To heal. To turn a horrid experience into something else.”

He flicks his gaze to the job listing on Dean’s desk. The signed contract. Dean follows him there mentally.

“You did.”

Dean shrugs, jostling Cas lightly. “What else was I going to do? Even when I didn’t really see the point, I had to try something… something else to make it better.”

He closes his eyes when Cas cards his fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp. How he’s missed being touched.

“I’m glad you were trying. And that Jack intervened one last time.”

“You were with him all this time?” he asks delicately.

Cas shakes his head, shadows capturing him as he frowns. “He fought to get me out of The Empty.”

He wants to ask. If it was like his time in Hell. Or worse. Probably worse, he concludes, the way Cas minutely shakes his head again, subconsciously maybe, so he doesn’t chase it down. Something tells him there will be time for that, whether either of them likes it or not.

“We were thinking of working on Heaven. Getting it sorted for humanity, assuming you and Sam were going to live long lives… but then…”

Dean nods, biting his lip. “So he sent you back human?”

“I asked,” Cas says. “I thought an angel had no business being down here with you. I’d only continue to upset the balance…”

“But you didn’t want to stay up there either.”

“No,” Cas says, and his voice breaks. “I… When Jack said how you were about to die, I c… I couldn’t. Not again. It would have been… exceptionally cruel to lose you like that. For Sam. For you.”

“And you.” His stomach flips unpleasantly. “No more hunting,” he breathes out the promise to Cas’ heart, “I promise, my love, no more hunting.”

No more drinking either, he thinks, but he knows that is a longer path to walk.

“It won’t be easy,” he says instead. “We’re not used to.. anything normal. And we ain’t exactly got healthy coping mechanisms.”

“Lack of honest communication being one of them,” Cas says mildly. “I’m aware. We’ll figure it out.”

“As we go?” Dean hums, earning a soft smile. “But we might need some help this time around.”

“That’s okay,” Cas whispers, pulling him up for more kisses. “Help is good. Help is healthy.”

*

He never understood worship until recently, ironically with Cas at his least celestial. Though to Dean, he will always remain his angel, much like he is forever Cas’ human. That’s Eileen’s contribution to the situation.

“You’re finally really _his_ human,” she signs over one of their breakfasts, where they actually all make it to the table together.

“He always was,” Cas says grumpily, the picture of a bird’s nest over his coffee.

Neither of them is a morning human, but they’re tactile. So they often have their morning coffees, leaning into each other. Shoulder to shoulder, dressed in whoever’s clothing they got a hold of first. Returning from his jog, Sam only ever smiles when he sees them like that.

Religious people will tell you worship can happen anywhere. Which is true. It’s in every touch, every kiss, every smile, every joke. Every moment they trip themselves up, because they’ve never had to be this damn human around each other, which, this time around, includes therapy and fights and having to actually deal with some of the baggage they gathered over the years. Therapy is no joke. Talking. So much talking, their voices give out.

So Dean makes Cas tea with honey.

They take their time, allowing the seasons to roll by. Months of recovery, where they don’t do anything but _be_. Sniff out that happiness alongside every sharp edge they snag themselves on.

They curl up in the media room, Cas in Dean's pyjamas and his fluffy bee socks, Dean in his briefs and robe, Miracle dozing between his or Cas’ legs. Depends who’s cradling who.

They talk about the future and eventually, matters start to shift. Slowly. When spring rolls around and new energies dance on the air.

Hunting never brought in any cash. Cas is poor as dirt and looks like a man who’s declared dead. Eileen has nothing to her name. Dean’s still that college dropout. Some of their hunter skills prove useful once more. They work the system one last time to give themselves the break they deserve, even while it’s a moral dime on its side for Sam. He’s hopelessly outnumbered in the stubborn persistence of Eileen, Cas and Dean.

So they get Sam back into college. Let him make it up by getting that degree and making the world a better place one case at a time. It’s adorable to see his baby brother light up when he talks about all this new stuff. Bursts of energy. Change. They support him through his first midterms, but he takes to it with relative ease and more time passes by.

Eileen foregoes education and instead relies on her old connections to land herself a job as a woodworker. She volunteers as a youth camp worker for the hearing impaired. Her energy seems boundless, but Dean knows she curls up with Sam often. They’re finding their way too.

That job listing? Yeah, Dean signed.

He’s a mechanic now.

And Cas…

Cas is a teacher. He works with little humans, as he calls them, even though they’re middle schoolers. The parents love it, never once realizing that’s his ancient, celestial ass misspeaking in front of them. And the kids adore him. For his vivid storytelling, his endless patience, and ability to make them believe they can impact the world around them positively.

So yeah, Dean worships him. With every fiber of his being.

*

They have several anniversaries by now.

There’s the barn anniversary obviously. Miracle loves that day trip.

But there’s also the final Lazarus anniversary.

It’s on that night, a year later to the day, where he brings Cas to tears. Not because of a fight or something blessedly and stupidly domestic. That shit happens, but it ain’t that.

He’s been laving attention to Cas for who knows how long. Their messy sheets are warm from their combined heat. They tend to lose track of time on important nights like these. Sam calls them date nights, but that somehow doesn’t sit right. Humanly speaking, sure. For everything else they are and were, it seems to lack nuances. Or depth.

These nights, where they close the bedroom door behind them well before bedtime, to reconnect and remind themselves of how far they’ve come. Beautiful in their intent, they’re often profoundly bittersweet. There’s only so much you can feel without getting swept up by that current.

But they need those nights the same way they’ve needed each other all these years.

It’s when he witnesses Cas _be_ , without anything else in the mix.

When Cas receives.

It’s two way, but to Dean, these moments where they tumble to the bed with nothing but each other on their mind make him hopeful that this is where he gets to take care of whatever grew from those kisses he planted a year ago. The promises he’s made.

And kept.

To tend to them. To Cas.

Those nights always leave marks. Tangible and invisible alike, much to Sam’s reluctant amusement the next morning.

Sometimes tending and placing those marks leaves a sting. It’s happened to Dean before and Cas held him through each of those overwhelming moments. Tonight it’s Cas’ turn, as he squirms under Dean’s hands. Under his now ever-grimy fingers and reverent lips and tongue, until…

“Dean…”

They’re so close, all he sees are parts of Cas. One eye, tearful. Wrinkles. The grey temple. Messy, sweaty curls. The slant of his shoulder. The shine of the warm, yellow light cast on his skin. Feels the tremble that courses through him.

“Mmh?”

“It hurts again.”

And his own heart wrenches, because, yes... “I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”

He’s stopped hesitating when it comes to meeting Cas, wherever he finds him. Wherever his thoughts and emotions take them. They don’t always meet elegantly, but they always meet.

“Remind me,” Cas hums, tired eyes lighting up with a soft yearning.

“I love you,” Dean says without hesitation. “Now and forever. I love you, Cas.”

Their breathing tends to sync up at times like these. It’s no different now, as Cas breathes out his tension, the lines in his forehead less deep, and Dean follows him there too. He closes his eyes, when Cas kisses him and whispers the words back to him.

“I love you.”


End file.
